


Arrythmic, Apron

by thescyfychannel



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Plant Nursery, Do you work here?, F/M, Love at First Sight, M/M, Miscommunication (Humorous), Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-24 03:28:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30065985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thescyfychannel/pseuds/thescyfychannel
Summary: Dirk is, by many counts, a genius.Usually.Almost always.A solid majority of the time, except when confronted with the existence of two perfect beings who saunter intohishangout spot without so much as a care in the world.
Relationships: Rose Lalonde/Dave Strider/Dirk Strider
Comments: 6
Kudos: 12
Collections: Polyswap's 2021 Dusk Promptfest





	Arrythmic, Apron

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HARDCOREPROCESS](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HARDCOREPROCESS/gifts).
  * In response to a prompt by [HARDCOREPROCESS](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HARDCOREPROCESS/pseuds/HARDCOREPROCESS) in the [Dusk_Polyswap_Promptfest_2021](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Dusk_Polyswap_Promptfest_2021) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> Something's wrong with Dirk. Horribly, terribly wrong. His heart beats out of his chest, his palms are going clammy, his body is reacting in ways it never has before. He's terrified, shaken to the core, and... Hey, what's that popular media trope about that one emotion felt on first sight?
> 
> • AKA: Dirk is absolutely smitten with Dave & Rose, and he doesn't even know it.

You've made it something of a practice to keep a record of the defining phrases of your life.

Not the little things, nothing that would fit better in a stereotypical novel about a stereotypical protagonist who has all of that...stuff, going on. The dancing around another human being as if not knowing how to behave in front of another sane, human person, was an admirable trait, or possibly even something to be desired. Luck was on their side. Had to be it. It'd taken you _effort_ to learn how to do shit, and here they were, unlearning it for free? Fuck.

Back to your record, but also, a continuation of the theme: You hadn't expected your latest entry to turn you into one of those buffoons.

Then again. You made no real habit of reading romance novels, and only a minor understanding of the genre of "miscommunications", hence—

"Do you work here?" You've never worked here in your life. It's a cute cafe, to be sure, part plant nursery and all kinds of beautiful, and you'd cheerfully spend as much time as you could crammed into that one little corner with the single stool and dinky table whenever the owner would let you (you had a system, of what you ordered and when, for the entire duration of your stay, and you tipped _well_ ), but working in food service was a little unknown to you.

You got the basics, though. You totally got the basics.

Probably why when you turned your head to look towards the voice (sweet-rough, strings-melodic, petrichoral, brights after rain) your brain short-circuited and you responded with something that, instead of a denial, sounded a hell of a lot more like: "Sure?"

Petrichoral: That is Rose. She is luminous, in several ways, and it's almost impossible for you to take your eyes off of her, even as she tucks in on your right side and you mechanically guide her through the cafe slash nursery, your impeccable memory doing the work for you as the two of you chat about plants and converse about coffee.

The almost is because of the occasional cutting comment from your left (smooth-sharp, synth-jarring, magmatic, the glow of an ember refusing to die).

Magmatic: That is Dave. He is a glow in the dark, impossibly so, and you find it hard to even think of ignoring his voice, pitched as it is to land right in your ears. His observations are cutting; humorous, they fit into your own lines of thinking almost perfectly so. He seems less interested in the plants and more in the coffee; the verbal sparring.

Here is the other thing: When you set out to study something (and even, sometimes, when you don't), you end up _really_ knowing your shit. It keeps your bacon unburnt through the entirety of the tour, through making two perfect drink orders (much to the amusement of the cafe staff, who all know you as a regular, refuse to give up the game, and _loudly_ remind you that you need to put on your apron and name tag after a break), through the exchanges you have over plants when they linger over a drink.

It also means you end up knowing so, _so_ much about them, before they even leave.

It also means you know, even before they go, that "Do you work here?" will be going in your records.

It unfortunately gives no explanation to why you keep having to press your palms onto your borrowed apron, to why you can't seem to calm your racing heart with any number of monstera facts or succulent discourse, to why everything feels uncomfortably, urgently...fizzy.

Dave and Rose. Rose and Dave. They grin at you, when they have to go. They promise to come back soon. They leave, arms full of plants and a wagonload more in tow.

You slump down into your specific corner, in your specific chair, and someone—one of the staff, you're not looking, you are _not_ prepared for further mockery—sets your usual down in front of you.

"You know," they say, and your brain has to clamp down on a series of responses, the most polite of which is _shut up_ , "if you actually wanted to work here, we'd totally hire you. Keep the apron until you decide! I've got extras!"

You've changed your mind. This shop is full of betrayal and you will _never_ come back again.

"They usually come in on Wednesdays," says your new nemesis. New, very _helpful_ , nemesis.

"I'm free from noon to 4:30," you say, staring up at the ceiling.

You have so many regrets.


End file.
